


Just Give Me A Reason

by tsiviaravina



Series: Near Zero Contact [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Awesome Phil Coulson, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Collars, Crying, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feels, Female Ejaculation, Hair-pulling, Hand Feeding, Light Angst, Massage, Masturbation, Moroccan Food, Morocco - Freeform, Mutual Masturbation, Neck Kissing, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Orders, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Safer Sex, Safewords, Scents & Smells, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Frustration, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spanking, Subspace, Swearing, Vaginal Fingering, collaring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 23:25:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6260227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsiviaravina/pseuds/tsiviaravina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place immediately following the Skye/Simmons hug in S1E6: “F.Z.Z.T.”. Ward’s rescue of Simmons mends a number of fences, as does a weekend in the city of Marrakech in Morocco. Basically, almost 19,000 words of Skye/Ward BDSM AU Smut and PWP as an apology for all the angst in “Fault Lines”. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Give Me A Reason

**Author's Note:**

  * For [little_angry_kitten18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_angry_kitten18/gifts).



> Dedicated to little_angry_kitten18 for keeping me on my toes and making me analyze the words I actually use… Never stop demanding the best from me! Extra details and BDSM smut just for you!  
> I used the following website for most of my information on Morocco: www.travel-exploration.com, and I used it mainly for information on food. I have never been to Morocco (unfortunately) and my take on it is probably fairly poor. I really hope I didn’t offend anyone.  
> I now have a tumblr account. You can find me for requests/prompts/snark etc. at tsiviaravina.tumblr.com.  
> I do not have a beta reader, so all errors and inaccuracies are mine.  
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; I just play in the AoS sandbox from time to time. I do not own, nor am I making any money from the use of the lyrics of the Pink song, “Just Give Me A Reason”. I do not own, nor am I making any money from the use of the lyrics of the Loreena McKennitt song, “The Gates of Istanbul”. Trying to sue me would be a hilarious, futile effort for all those involved.

_Just give me a reason_

_Just a little bit’s enough_

_Just a second; we’re not broken, just bent_

_And we can learn to love again_

_It’s in the stars_

_It’s been written in the scars on our hearts;_

_We’re not broken, just bent_

_And we can learn to love again_

_—“Just Give Me A Reason” by Pink_

_“You can stay…if you want.”_

_—Ward to Skye in S1E6: “F.Z.Z.T.”_

_“Just getting you out of the water—Do you have any idea what a pain it is dealing with the Moroccan office?”_

_—Coulson to Jemma and Ward in S1E6: F.Z.Z.T._

 

 

She’s let Jemma go to see Fitz, and when she turns to face him, her eyes are soft and filled with tears.

He’s not even sure if she knows what day it is—if she knows that it’s been a week. A week since…

But it doesn’t matter because she’s throwing herself at him, knocking him backwards about a foot, her arms wrapped around his chest, her face buried in his shoulder, and she’s in hysterics.

He scoops her up and carries her to one of the couches, where he sits with her huddled on his lap, her ear pressed to his chest over his heart. She’s shaking and has her hands fisted in his shirt and he looks down and starts to chuckle.

“Shut _up_ you—you _asshole!_ You _both_ could have _died_ and—”

“—and you owe me a new shirt,” he deadpans, pointing to where her eyeliner and mascara and tears have gotten smudged all over the front of his T-shirt.

“Oh, it’s already black, for God’s sake—you are impossible, _Agent Grant Ward!”_ she growls (growls!) at him, before straddling his hips and kissing him in a way she hasn’t since before…everything.

He tangles a hand in her curls and tugs and she tightens her thighs around his, grinding down onto him. His other hand comes up to gently, oh so gently encircle her throat, and she lets out a moan that’s positively pornographic and has him bucking his hips up against her, his cock a sudden hard, hot weight between his legs.

She yanks herself away, a wonderfully sweaty, horny mess, and tells him between kisses, “Bunk…Pick one… _now!”_

He just whines and tries to pull her back, but she’s being that wonderful kind of bottom-bossy with him that’s getting to be a turn-on. “Coulson’s already pissy from your swan-dive duo routine with Simmons— _Goddamnit, Ward!_ —He’ll shoot the two of us with his own sidearm if he finds us having sex on the couch!”

“We’re having sex?” he asks, playing clueless, knowing it will piss her off, while snaking his hand up her shirt.

“You’re just playing clueless to piss me—oh, _God,_ Ward, you can stop doing that in about _three days…”_

“Not on that couch,” May comments acerbically as she comes downstairs from Coulson’s office and heads towards the cockpit.

Skye starts to laugh, the most wonderful thing he’s heard in a week, so he just mutters, “Copy that,” and manages to get off the couch, even while Skye is still trying to climb him like a tree. “Come _here,”_ he says and tosses her over his shoulder, giving her a slap on the ass for good measure.

“Thank you, sir; may I have another?” she snorts, and he obliges, picking his bunk as being the cleaner of the two.

He tosses her on his bed to hear her laugh again before settling himself in the curve of her hips, grinding down just enough to make her breath catch. He tangles a hand in her hair, all the while letting her kiss and suck and lick and bite as much as she wants. She’s going to make him absolutely crazy, the way she’s licking and sucking a path down the side of his neck. Now she’s already fumbling with his belt and she simply states, “Shirt. Off. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he teases, yanking the shirt up and over his head. Then somehow she has him on his back and she’s already unbuckled his belt and is now working on his fly, bitching about the buttons again and he laughs until suddenly he feels as if he’s literally going to explode because after a week of doing nothing but holding her at night and not even getting himself off in the shower, she has him in her mouth and as far down her throat as she can manage without choking herself on his cock.

_“Skye,”_ he whispers, sinking his hands into her hair, listening to her make those…contented little noises, like she does _every single time_ in the back of her throat, and it just makes it sound as if she’d be happy forever just…doing what she’s doing. “Skye, I can’t— _Goddamnit, Skye!”_ he gasps as she moves one hand to circle the base of his cock while she uses the other to carefully cup and gently stroke his balls.

She stops bobbing her head on his cock just long enough to fix him with a glare. “This is just the beginning of your ‘Hero’s Welcome’. Now, stop fighting it, and come for me.” Her eyes twinkle as she brushes her thumb across his perineum, making him inhale sharply. “And no, Super Spy, I haven’t forgotten what day it is,” she says softly, before taking him in hand (and mouth) again.

He gives up, gives in, and relaxes back into the pillow and mattress, his hands tangled in Skye’s hair, her mouth and tongue and hands doing the most wonderful things to him until he’s groaning softly and she’s moving faster and then— _fuck!_ He’s coming and the whole thing took him by surprise, but she still has her lips wrapped around him and she’s swallowing him down until he’s dry and, truth be told, a little winded.

She kisses her way up his chest and his neck until he can taste himself on her and in an instant, he’s rolled her underneath him and he’s yanking at her top. “Too…many…clothes…” he needlessly explains between kisses and she finally shoves him away so she can get rid of her top and her bra.

He’s managed to get what little remains of his clothing off and is fumbling at the waist of Skye’s jeans until she starts doing that magical thing with her hands—just petting and rubbing his skin, from the nape of his neck down his back and chest that makes him want to _purr,_ for fuck’s sake—and then she’s working her button and zipper and somehow her jeans are down around her hips so he just stands up and yanks them off, and he’s about to say to hell with it and tear off the panties when—she _smacks_ his _arm_ —and warns him with a death glare. “Don’t you _dare,_ Grant Ward; I bought those special for today!”

So then he actually looks at her panties which match the bra lying on his floor and he agrees that yes, the panties are fantastic, but convinces her that they’ll be happier on the floor with the bra and she’s laughing again as he tugs the fantastic panties down and off.

Negotiations are fairly easy after that: “Condom?” “Condom!” He grabs one out of his top drawer, only to have Skye snatch the foil packet out of his hands, tear it open, and smooth it down his cock.

“ _Damn!_ Happy to see me, sailor? Oh _Jesus God,_ Grant!” She’s got her legs wrapped around his waist and he _must_ be making up for a week’s worth of lost time, because he’s fucking her—there’s no other word for it—as if his life depends on the outcome. His mouth is on her neck and one hand is in her hair while he uses the thumb of his other hand to press those amazing-feeling circles around and around and around on her clit. She gives up, grabs his shoulders, and hangs on for dear life.

“You’ve got to— _Christ!_ —slow down, or I’m gonna— _oh God!”_ And now he has her pinned with one hand holding both wrists above her head and the other hand supporting himself as he fucks her through three solid orgasms before he fastens his mouth over hers and his hips jerk wildly as he comes hard, moaning into her mouth.

And suddenly, she bursts into tears.

He carefully takes care of the condom issue, then urges her to cuddle up next to him under the blankets. She presses her face into his chest, her tears coming hot and fast. She punches the mattress fairly hard a time or three, as well. “Hey, hey,” he says, cupping her face in his hands, smoothing her tears away from her face, and somehow handing her a bunch of tissues all at the same time. “Easy on the mattress. How would we explain the replacement requisition to Coulson?” That makes her laugh _and_ cry, which makes her hiccup, which makes her punch _him._

“ _Ow!_ Come here, before you break me or the bed,” he murmurs into her ear, and she finally calms down, snuggling into his arms, her head on his chest.

“I wanted to give you something a week ago,” he finally says softly to her. “You asked me to…wait until today.” She looks up at him, smiles softly, and runs a hand along his cheek. “Do you still…”

“If you’ll still have me,” she responds quickly. “I’ll never be…easy, Grant,” she says softly. “I don’t think I know how. But I do know that you’re the first person since…” She swallows hard and closes her eyes for a moment. “You’re the first person in a _very_ long time that I’ve wanted to make this kind of commitment to.” She presses her face into his shoulder. “I’m sorry—I’m not being my usual eloquent self right now.”

He chuckles, pulls her even closer, and kisses her forehead. “You’re being you, Skye. That’s all I ever wanted, from the minute you stepped on my toes, called me a ‘government toolbag’, and flashed your cleavage at me— _Ow!”_ He laughs and grabs her wrists with one hand as she tries to pummel his chest.

“I so did _not_ flash my cleavage at you—okay, there was that _one_ time,” she concedes, moving up to kiss him, sucking at his lower lip.

He gives her a lazy, knowing grin as he wraps her hair around his wrist so he can hold her head still for a hot, mouth-bruising kiss that leaves them both breathless. “Do you know what we’re going to do now?” he asks in a soft murmur in her ear, making her shiver from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine.

“What?” she manages to squeak out, her eyes wide, her pupils dilating, her muscles relaxing against him at that slow, steady pull on her hair.

“Well, for starters, I’m going to go down on you. For a long, long time.” He pauses to suck on her earlobe until he feels her shiver again and hears her moan softly. “I’ll let you come…eventually. Just to…take the edge off, you understand.” He runs his tongue around and around the shell of her ear.

“Oh, God… _please,_ Grant,” she whispers, her eyes closed.

“Don’t worry, Skye,” he says, brushing his lips over her forehead and he can’t help but grin that lazy, knowing grin when she shudders and moans again, just at that simple touch. “When I think you’re ready…when you’re nice and wet and riding my hand—”

“Al—already there,” she manages to stutter, pressing herself against him so he can feel exactly how wet she is right _fucking_ now…

“Mouth shut, Skye,” he warns, smacking her ass once, as a warning, and he watches as, eyes closed, she licks and bites her bottom lip.

“Now, where was I...oh yes,” he continues, in that soft murmur in her ear. “When you’re soaking wet from riding my hand and from my mouth on your clit, I’ll…eventually ask for a condom, which you will get from the drawer and…you’ll…assist me in putting it on.” He lets his hand wander between her legs, running his fingers through her folds to feel the moisture that’s already starting to wet her thighs. She bites her bottom lip even harder, but doesn’t make a sound and doesn’t move.

“Such a good girl,” he whispers, thumb finding her clit. She shakes and whimpers a little, but he’ll let that pass. “And then, if you ask nicely…I’ll fuck you until you can’t walk. Sound like a good way to spend an hour or three?”

“Yes, sir,” she whispers.

He kisses her again, hard and demanding. He finally lets go of her hair and brings his hand out from between her legs to lick his fingers clean. He tosses the blanket off the bed and orders, “On your back, arms up and together, legs spread nice and wide.”

She immediately does exactly as he says, panting, flushed, and dripping wet. He gets up and she whimpers. “I’m not leaving. I’m not going anywhere except to the closet to get a few things.” He runs a hand up and down her side until she relaxes again.

He quickly grabs the small black bag from the back of the closet and removes a set of lined wrist cuffs. When he fastens them around Skye’s wrists and locks them together, she faintly sighs, “Thank you, sir,” and her body relaxes even more.

He takes out the blindfold, a simple black silk scarf, and ties it around her closed eyes. He bends down and kisses her softly, saying, “You’re being such a good girl for me, Skye. So good. I’m going to move the pillow under your hips,” he tells her, and she simply nods, raising her hips for him. Dear God, he wants to give in and fuck her silly right fucking _now,_ but he closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths.

He takes one last thing out of the bag—a large mitt covered in baby soft black faux fur. He draws the mitt gently across her breasts. She inhales sharply, and her nipples immediately harden into two small hard peaks that he bathes with his tongue. Then she’s panting as he slowly, gently sucks one nipple into his mouth while running the fur-covered mitt over her other breast.

“Oh, please…oh, please…oh, please,” are the only words that she can manage to speak, and then only in a whisper. She’s so far down that everything—every touch, every lick, every swipe of the fur across her skin—is amplified a thousand times, but she can barely move.

And now he’s moved between her legs and he’s stroking her inner thighs and everything between her legs with the fur-lined mitt. “Oh _God!”_ makes its way out of her mouth, earning her a slap on the thigh. Then she feels his mouth on her, his lips and tongue feeling as if they’re hot enough to scald her skin. He’s licking her with large swipes of his tongue, from the bottom of her slit to her clit, which makes all the muscles in her pelvis and ass contract and relax. He does that for what seems like forever until she starts begging, “Please...please…please…” over and over again.

“Please what, Skye?” He’s never seen her quite like this, and he loves the way she looks right now: disheveled, debauched, and horny as hell, completely open to him mentally, emotionally, and physically. He can tell by her tiny movements that her inner walls are clenching rhythmically on nothing but air and decides to remedy that by carefully easing two fingers inside her.

“Please, sir, please…can I move? Please…I won’t come…but can I move?” She’s fluttering around his fingers and she’s absolutely drenched. All she wants to do is move her hips and ride his hand.

“Go ahead, Skye. But _just_ your hips, and I expect you to keep your word about not coming.” He pushes in a third finger and bends down to bathe her clit with his tongue.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I won’t, sir,” she hears herself babble, and her focus goes to her hips, which she begins to roll against the mattress, riding his hand and pressing up against his mouth, her hands fisting in the sheets above her head.

He gently, slowly, and with the utmost care, begins to press his fingers into her at a slight upwards angle. She whimpers softly at the change and the roll in her hips speeds up just a touch. He keeps his focus on just those three fingers, and what he can feel beneath those fingertips.

He keeps his mouth fastened on her clit as he searches everywhere he can reach inside her. He angles his fingers up just a bit more…

…and she freezes. He raises his head to look at her, her skin slick with sweat, her hair damp at the roots, her hands clinging to the sheets as if they’re a lifeline. Then he can feel her whole body start to shake.

“Skye, I need you to tell me what’s wrong—am I hurting you? Is it too much? We can stop…”

“I can’t… _Don’t move. Please._ I’m…You found my G-spot, and I’m so, so, so sorry, but if we move, _I’ll come._ I won’t be able to stop it…” Her breath hitches and the blindfold is damp from her tears. “I don’t… _What do you want me to do?”_

He is very careful, and moves himself without moving his hand, Grant Ward being your go-to guy for defusing nuclear bombs and all that. His hand doesn’t even tremble, but he can feel her muscles now, tight as a vise around his fingers. He moves himself up and slightly to the side so he can watch the inevitable unfold.

He kisses her left hip. “ _I’m_ going to move. _You’re_ going to move. And you’ll have a tremendous, mind-blowing set of orgasms. I want to watch you come…just from…this,” he says, and strokes his fingers firmly over the patch of skin he finally, finally found.

She erupts. There’s no other possible way of describing it. She manages to muffle her screams (plural) by burying her head somehow between her left arm and the mattress. Her hips buck wildly and he has to move with her to keep from hurting her. She’s screaming again as he keeps pressing his fingers into that one patch of skin, feeling her muscles not contract and release, but simply contract tighter and tighter, keeping his fingers buried solidly inside her as her hips come up off the pillow only to remain in the air.

Somehow, she’s _still_ riding his hand, and suddenly, there’s a small flood of wetness, clear and almost odorless, streaming down his hand, wrist, and arm. He feels her muscles relax only to contract again, and another small flood of wetness drips down his arm and onto the sheets. It happens twice more and by then the pillow, the sheets, and his entire arm are drenched.

Her muscles relax abruptly and he swiftly pulls his fingers out of her. He grabs his T-shirt from the floor and quickly dries his arm with it so he can take the leather cuffs off of Skye’s wrists and carefully remove the blindfold and shove them onto the nightstand.

She’s curled herself up into a tiny ball, her entire body quaking with aftershocks. He tosses the pillow off the bed so he can wrap himself around Skye, who starts to cry.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…Grant, I am so sorry,” she says to him in between sobs, and he suddenly knows she’s not apologizing for having (what felt to him like) four incredible, mind-blowing orgasms.

She’s apologizing for Miles Lydon, for the week they just spent in their own personal hells, for the battles they fought over her collaring…he knows she’s apologizing for everything since…since their beginnings.

He sighs, partially in relief, and pulls her into the warm curve of his body. “It’s okay, Skye,” he murmurs into her hair. “It’s okay. It’s all over. I’m sorry I—” he finds himself whispering. “I should _never_ have— _oh God,”_ he exhales, his voice breaking.

Then _she’s_ comforting _him_ while his shoulders shake and his tears fall on her neck and breasts. They’re rocking each other, each wiping away the other’s tears. They whisper soothingly to one another, Skye running her hands all over Ward, from his neck to his back and chest, and down his side over a hip. Ward clings to Skye, brushing soft kisses all over her face, her neck, her breasts. They end up curled around each other with his head tucked under her chin so he can keep pressing kisses into the soft skin of her throat.

When their breathing and pulses are back to normal, Skye chuckles. “So was that your first experience with female ejaculation? And if I can ask a favor—find _any_ term for it _except_ ‘squirting’. I’m not a water pistol, for God’s sake,” she finishes with an annoyed mutter, hearing him chuckle softly.

Ward brings his hand up to cup her cheek against his palm. “It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, looking into her eyes. “But we’ll…need to do a little bit of clean-up in here,” he chuckles.

She blushes and slaps her hands over her face. She knows it’s perfectly natural and beautiful and gives her fucking _amazing_ orgasms, but for her, drenching her partner as well as the bed is an “occupational hazard” of getting a really, really good G-spot orgasm. “Oh, Jesus…how bad is the flood damage?” she groans, making him laugh.

He raises his head and looks around. “The pillow, the sheets, the blankets, and my T-shirt. We’re going to have to spray the mattress down and dry it, too.”

“And we’ll both need showers,” she comments. “But first…” She leans over and rummages in the top drawer until she draws out a condom. “Just so you know, we’re running low on these…” she teases him, holding it high enough over him that he finally yanks her down and grabs it from her.

Then she’s reaching over him and pulls out the warming lubricant. “Hey, we have to take showers anyway…” She carefully applies a thin coating to his cock, rubbing and twisting and swirling her hand around him until his cock is warm and tingling. He watches as she applies the remainder to herself—stroking her clit and her folds, then reaching her fingers deep inside and swirling them around.

“Now come fuck me like you mean it,” she tells him, wiping her hand off on the sheet. Hell, in for a penny, and all that crap.

“ _You_ are turning into a bossy little bottom,” he mutters, expertly flipping her over and shoving her to her hands and knees, fitting his own body tightly over hers.

“Bitch, bitch, bitch,” she whispers back over her shoulder, gasping when he slams himself home, his teeth scraping her neck.

He makes sure she can’t say anything else for quite some time.

***

They finally get to the point where they take (separate) showers and change into clean clothes. Skye grabs the soaked sheets and blankets and tosses them into the washer. Ward grabs the disinfectant spray to use on the mattress and pillow, both of which are thankfully covered in some type of waterproof fabric.

He’s drying the mattress while Skye starts the dryer. She has a quick chat with Simmons, coming back into the bunk with a box. He raises an eyebrow in inquiry. She chuckles.

“You have more space in your closet than I do, so you get to store the chux pads.”

“What am I storing again, and why?”

“I’m assuming you’ll want to turn me into a firehose again at the next available opportunity,” she teases, loving the blush that works its way up from his chest to his neck to his cheeks and forehead.

“You have such a way with words; you know that, right?” he sighs. Today is just going to be one of those days when she runs verbal circles around him.

She settles the box in the closet and walks over to him. “Hey,” she says softly, tugging on his sleeve. He stands up, looking down at her, mildly confused.

She stands on tiptoe so she can wrap her arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss. She feels him smile against her lips before he turns the kiss into something that leaves her breathless and completely weak in the knees.

“You were saying?” he asks after pulling away and resting his forehead against hers.

“Ummm…yeah…wow…oh, yeah…First, I’m sorry for embarrassing you. I’m insecure about the whole thing myself, so, it’s kind of a built-in defense mechanism.”

He smiles softly, both at the apology and that she’s willing to admit to a weakness. “Thank you,” he says, pulling back so he can drop kisses on her upturned face. “But you have nothing to be insecure about. Being able to do that to you is…well…‘empowering’ doesn’t even come _close_ to describing what that felt like.”

“Well, I’m glad it was good for you too, because that’s what the chux pads are for. They’re basically large, disposable, waterproof pads that will keep everything dry if—”

_“When.”_

She chuckles. “Okay… _when_. When we…want to do that again.”

He leans in to give her another kiss, pulling her hips against his. He doesn’t want her to feel anxious, embarrassed, or self-conscious about…well, he’s still trying to find something between “female ejaculation” (too clinical) and “squirting” (too demeaning) to describe what happened when he hit her G-spot, because, frankly, the whole thing made him feel like…

_“Mine,”_ he sighs into her hair, his arms wrapped tightly around her.

She rests her head against his chest and he can hear the smile in her voice. “Yeah,” she replies.

“Me too.”

***

Dinner and _Lady and the Tramp_ later (Skye insists that she has a _need_ to see the spaghetti scene again) and the Bus is pleasantly quiet, FitzSimmons in Simmons’s bunk (too much laundry on the floor in Fitz’s) and Skye nesting with Ward in his (much) cleaner bunk.

Sometime after darkness, but before dawn, Ward wakes to find himself alone. He sits up quickly, making his head spin a bit. He waits a few minutes to see if she’s just gone to use the bathroom, then gets up, pulling a T-shirt over his head, and walks into the darkness of the Bus to find Skye.

“Over here,” comes a husky voice from one of the couches. He can see her, looking all of five years old in one of his white T-shirts and boxers, her curls caught up in a loose ponytail. She waves at him, then goes back to looking out the window at the sand dunes that surround the Sandbox’s airfield.

He walks over to her, sitting down behind her and wrapping his arms around her. She nestles back into his body with a kiss under his jaw and a sigh.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks, murmuring the question into her hair.

She shakes her head. “Nope.”

“Simmons?”

“Partly,” she answers, turning her head so she can look up at him.

“Peru?” he asks, seeing the shadows under her eyes.

“Partly,” she repeats, but not obnoxiously.

He waits a moment before asking, “Us?”

She nods, closing her eyes and resting her head on his chest. He draws her closer, pressing his lips against the top of her head.

“I _promise_ you; I will never do anything like that _ever_ again—”

She opens her eyes and presses a finger to his lips, her tracking bracelet gleaming in the darkness. “I know, Grant. I believe you.” She lets her finger trace a path over his cheek. “I believe _in_ you.” She sighs and looks down. “I guess I’m having a harder time…believing in _me_. Why I’m here. Whether I can be…as good at this as I want to be.”

“Hey,” he whispers, hearing the tears behind her voice. “You grew up bouncing around the system, dropped out of high school, lived by your wits and computer…mojo _in a van_ , got picked up by and then recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D….” He gently rubs the back of her neck, gratified when he sees her shoulders relax a bit at his touch. “Just about every card in the deck was stacked against you, and you’re still playing the game and so far, you’re winning.”

He raises her chin with the gentle nudge of a finger. She looks deep into his eyes, seeing faith, trust...hope. She wants to believe him. She wants to believe in his belief in her so damn badly. “But I’ve already made a million mistakes—” she starts, her hands fisting in his shirt.

“—and so have I.” His eyes cloud over, gather shadows. “Every single person on this plane has. Hell, S.H.I.E.L.D. itself started a project that resulted in an alien invasion and the World Security Council almost wiped New York City off the face of the map with a—with a nuclear missile! None of us is blameless. No one in S.H.I.E.L.D. is perfect. No one on Earth is perfect. If they seem to be, it’s nothing but a façade, an illusion. With my family…I should know,” he finishes, resting his forehead against hers.

She reaches up and brings his head down for a kiss, soft and tentative. He returns the kiss just as gently, but firmly, _needing_ her to believe. Needing her to keep that adamantine faith safe for both of them, since he has so little of it himself.

He deepens the kiss, lengthens it, needing her to understand everything he doesn’t know how to say. That she’s his, but he’s hers and _that_ is exhilarating and terrifying. He finds himself chuckling against her mouth. She pulls back slightly, raising an eyebrow at him. “I was just thinking that…things between us have been…exhilarating and terrifying,” he whispers to her.

She smiles back. “Not unlike our day-to-day lives around here, Agent Grant Ward.” She laughs softly. “Did you know that not only can you jump out of a plane without a parachute, but that you can shoot the legs off a flea from five hundred yards—”

“—as long as it’s not windy,” he finishes with her, smiling at her smile. “Crisis of faith put on the back burner for now?” he asks her as she yawns. She rests her head against his chest and nods her head.

“For now,” she whispers to him.

He slips his arms underneath her and slowly stands up, carrying her gently in his arms. She nuzzles her face into his chest and slips her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” she whispers to him as he brings them back to his bunk.

“Anytime,” he whispers back, laying her carefully on the mattress, then slipping off his T-shirt and getting in beside her, pulling the covers over them both. He presses a kiss to her temple when she turns towards him and nuzzles his chest, already asleep.

“Anytime.”

***

The next day, they’re back in the air, thankfully leaving the Sandbox and the Chitauri helmet behind. Morning training and breakfast over, Skye convinces Ward to let her have some “me” time and she grabs her laptop and Simmons (who is technically “recuperating”, but Skye apparently _really_ needs her advice), and shoves everyone and everything into the SUV.

A couple-three hours later, Simmons and Skye finally emerge, pink-cheeked and laughing and completely unable to look any of the male members of the team in the face.

Over lunch, there are hurried whispers of conversation between the two younger women, who are sitting at their own table, and Ward and Fitz are physically shoved away from said table more than once. There are giggles. There is blushing. There is even a moment when Simmons gets a little louder than a whisper and Skye slaps a hand over her mouth.

“I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it,” Fitz comments darkly to Ward. Ward, for once, nods in complete agreement.

***

Something is definitely not right.

Ward can smell it.

Well, the actual problem is that he can smell Skye _willingly_ using cleaning products in her bunk.

She’s changed her sheets.

She’s done her laundry.

She’s gotten rid of what looks like _reams_ of paper and _pounds_ of assorted detritus.

And now she’s in the shower.

Humming the song _Bella Notte_ from the spaghetti scene in _Lady and the Tramp_.

She’s been able to avoid him in this manner since lunch.

And he doesn’t like it.

But he can be patient.

He can wait.

_Damn it to Hell!_

***

“’Fess up, rookie.”

Skye lets out a thoroughly undignified squawk, spinning around just in time to see Ward close and lock the door to her bunk.

“How did—how could—it is _too damn small_ for you to hide in here!” she manages to gasp out.

He smiles that predatory little smile at her. “Not if you know your way around,” he says, smooth as black silk.

He twitches his nose. “Nice and clean in here.” He sits down on the mattress. “I can see the floor. I’m impressed.”

She cocks her head impatiently at him and puts her hands on her hips. “I’m—I’m doing stuff I’m supposed to do, and you’re being all—suspicious! What gives?” She’s working the outraged angle for all its worth.

He rises to loom over her.

“You’re _looming_ , Ward,” she mutters, backing towards the door.

“I know,” he grins, and grabs her.

There’s a tussle, which he doesn’t really mind, since tussles with Skye have a habit of ending very well for the both of them. As it does this time.

The turban thing she uses on her wet hair and her robe are both on the floor. She, however, is blushing bright red and is as naked as the day she was born, his body pinning hers to the mattress.

“What are you up to?” he asks her, deceptively quiet.

“None of your beeswax,” she snarks back, struggling to somehow push him off of her. She gives up quickly, knowing it’s impossible. “Look—you two just have to wait until tomorrow night.”

“You…two?”

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “ _You_ and _Fitz_. Simmons and I got each of you...something.”

Ward now looks positively alarmed, which doesn’t help the situation because it only makes Skye start to giggle. “You just can’t stand not knowing something, can you?” she teases. “Not knowing all the ‘variables in play’.”

She sighs as he narrows his eyes at her. “Simmons will be…giving Fitz a…surprise…when it gets here…for everything he did for her with the Chitauri helmet and for the fact that his first instinct was to grab a ‘chute and dive after her when she jumped out of the Bus. I’ll be giving you _your_ surprise when it gets here for doing the much more visually dramatic part of the rescue. And I wanted to have something special to wear when you want to…to collar me. _Now_ will you let me up?”

He can tell that she’s completely exasperated with him. He loves it. “Nope,” he says calmly. “I like it right here,” he says.

“Ward,” she tries again. “I’m naked and wet.”

“We’ve never found that to be a problem between us before,” he smirks.

“Okay. I’m naked and wet and cold! Naked, wet, and cold does not make for sexy fun times! It just makes me—”

He sits up on the mattress, straddling her as he takes off his T-shirt. He lays back down, closing his eyes for a minute at the delicious feel of her breasts pressing into his skin. He cups the back of her head in one hand and holds her still as he kisses her long and leisurely. He feels himself harden when she wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

When he breaks the kiss, they’re both breathless. “Warmer?” he pants.

“Getting there,” she answers him. “Get rid of the jeans,” she demands.

He grinds himself into her, carefully, as he gets up and stands next to the mattress. He undoes his belt buckle and opens his fly, still looking at her. He slowly starts to ease himself out of his jeans. Her hand creeps between her legs.

“Don’t make me spank you,” he warns, and she reluctantly pulls her hand away. She grins and puts her hands behind her head, which pushes her breasts up towards him. He chuckles and drops to his knees so he can take a nipple into his mouth.

“You’re such a tease,” she gasps as he swirls the flat of his tongue against her nipple.

He very gently scrapes his teeth over the surface of her nipple, comes up for air and just looks at her with those eyes that make her want to give him everything and deny him nothing. “You love it,” he whispers in her ear, and she shivers as his fingertips softly brush the skin between her legs.

“God, yes,” she whispers back, letting her own hand rub his cock through his jeans. He closes his eyes and sighs, the same way he does when she pets his neck and chest and back.

He abruptly shoves his jeans and underwear off, but still stays kneeling next to the mattress. “Touch me,” he pleads. He meant for it to come out as more of an order, but right now he just wants her hands on him—he doesn’t care if he has to beg her to get what he wants.

She doesn’t disappoint—she rolls on her side to face him and she gently strokes his cock with one hand while running her other hand firmly over him from his neck to his hips. “How in the hell did you get to be so damned beautiful?” he hears her whisper softly, his eyes having closed in pleasure long ago.

She opens her top drawer and pulls out a condom, opens the foil packet and gently unrolls it down his length. It’s a tight fit, but somehow they manage, and he finds himself sitting back on his heels so she can straddle him and lower herself onto his cock, the two of them clinging together as she starts to move.

Their bodies are absolutely fused together, his arms wrapped tightly around her, her hips rolling against his, him panting into her ear, and she turns her head to kiss him so she can moan into his mouth.

He can’t really move, but that’s fine with him because she’s hot and wet and tight around him and she’s starting to move her hips faster against him. “Let go,” he whispers in her ear. “Just…let go. Show me what it’s like when you let go.”

She kisses him again, hard, and grinds down against him. She presses her forehead against his, riding him faster and faster, and he can feel her hands clutching at his back, his shoulders. She’s panting and so is he, so close that they’re sharing the same breath, and then he feels her press against him even harder, hears her whisper, “Oh God, Grant, _please_ don’t let me go…”

“It’s okay…it’s okay…” he pants. “I’ve got you, Skye. Couldn’t let go if I tried…”

Her hips are pistoning against his now and she manages to close all distance between them, hooks her chin over his shoulder and one ankle around the other and then she’s gasping, “I’m coming, _oh God,_ I’m coming—”

And he feels her shudder and bite his shoulder and her muscles are tight and fluttering around him and he didn’t know he could be this aroused and this…tender…at the same time, and he’s coming, grinding his hips up against her.

They’re both trembling and Skye’s hair is dripping water down Ward’s back, but he could care less. He just wants to _be_ —to exist in this small window in time with her. Her head is resting against his shoulder and her limbs are still wrapped around him so tightly that he can feel her heart beating against his own chest.

“Don’t let me go,” she whispers.

“Never,” he whispers back, slowly rocking back and forth. “Never.”

They sit like that for a bit until Ward realizes that Skye is shivering from cold. “Get under the covers,” he murmurs to her, holding them up so she can get into bed. He tosses the condom and grabs a towel and her brush, rearranging them so Skye is still wrapped in her blankets, but is sitting up so he can sit behind her, warm against her, so he can towel-dry and brush her hair.

She closes her eyes, smiles, and _does_ make this small purring sound in the back of her throat. Ward smiles softly as he continues to gently untangle her hair, then brushes it back in long strokes from her scalp to the ends of her hair.

“If I’d known you liked this so much, I would have taken advantage of it much sooner,” he murmurs.

“Actually, I didn’t really know,” she replies. “All I remember are the nuns yanking at the tangles when I was three or four. It hurt like hell so I learned how to brush it by myself pretty damned quick. No one else ever brushed it before.”

“Not even your other—” He stops the words from falling out of his mouth.

She reaches up and takes his hand. “No, Grant. Not even my other Domme, who happened to be a woman, by the way, and just to put the worry to rest, I _never_ entertained the idea of getting into _anything_ this…intense with…with Miles.” She kisses his palm. “I promise you, that one day, I’ll tell you about…her.” She sighs, and his heart aches for the sadness in the sound. “Just…not today, if that’s okay.”

He puts the brush down and wraps his arms around her from behind. “I only want to hear about her when you’re ready to tell me about her. And if that day never comes…I’ll be all right with that, too.”

She turns around to face him, her palm soft on his cheek, her eyes searching his face. He closes his eyes, turns his head, and kisses her palm. He stretches out beside her, and she drapes the covers over them both before settling against him. “Time for a nap?” he whispers into her hair that’s starting to dry into the messy curls that he loves.

“Yeah,” she whispers back. He pretends not to hear the sniffles or see the tears that she quickly wipes away. He simply wraps his arms around her and presses his lips into her hair while she nuzzles into his chest.

He drifts, not quite awake, but not quite asleep, wanting— _needing_ to protect her.

Even from memories.

He holds her, making sure her sleep is peaceful and deep.

Everything else—and everyone else—can wait.

***

They land back in Morocco for maintenance and resupply. Late the next morning, Jemma and Skye both go to check for any incoming packages and return triumphant, with even more blushing and giggling. After a heated, whispered debate between the two, Skye apparently loses their coin-toss and has to find the courage to corner Coulson in his office, all of which amuses him to no end.

“Look, A.C., I know I’m still re-paying my dues, but Simmons and I need your help.”

He raises his eyebrows at her.

“A riad, a safe house, a...Moroccan Motel 6—any place but this plane for a night for me and Ward and FitzSimmons. Come on,” she cajoles. “I _know_ you and May will appreciate the quiet!”

Coulson opens the top drawer of his desk and tosses two small packets on the blotter of his desk.

“You and Simmons sort out who gets which apartment. They’re small but well-appointed, and in Marrakech. You can either go out to eat or stay in and cook. I made sure the kitchens were well stocked since I had the feeling your main interest would be in the bedrooms.” He ignores her furious blush by busying himself with a stack of files.

“Go on,” he urges, when she’s still hasn’t moved. “Make sure your bags are packed for a weekend. I don’t want to see or hear from the four of you for the next two nights.”

He pretends he doesn’t see her blinking tears away. “Thanks, A.C.,” she whispers.

There’s the brief pressure of lips on his cheek and the fleeting scent of jasmine.

_(…you value me…you’re the first person to do that in a long time…)_

Then she’s gone.

***

The shower is huge and hot and absolutely marvelous. There’s also a bathtub she plans on trying before they leave. In fact, the shower is so large, it takes her a moment to realize she’s not alone, and that happens only because Ward hands her the shampoo.

“What—you scared the _crap_ out of— _Goddamnit, Ward!”_ she cries out, startled, but then he’s kissing her, soft and languid and relaxed and he’s pulling her back under the spray. Then she can only cling to him as he moves his mouth to her neck and he’s licking and sucking and using teeth to make her gasp and pant and press herself full length against him, and both of them are so warm, and so slick, that the sensation of skin against skin is exquisite.

His cock is rubbing delightfully against her belly when Ward catches her trying to hold back a moan. He murmurs into her ear, “We don’t have to be careful. I don’t care if it brings out every neighbor we have, plus the local police—I want to hear you scream tonight.” Then one hand is in her hair, and the other is gently encircling her throat and he’s kissing her and kissing her and she’s clinging to his shoulders and she lets herself moan out loud.

“That’s it,” Ward encourages her as he breaks the kiss only to run his hands over her breasts. “Let me hear you.”

“I want to hear you, too,” she says, and can’t resist kneeling and taking his cock into her mouth. And God, is it good—there’s room to _really_ move, and she moans around him, making him lean back against the shower wall with a groan.

“Skye— _Skye—fuck!”_ is all he manages to get out before he dissolves into moans. Her hair is wet and tangled from his fingers and he can feel sweat spring up on his skin from the heat of the shower and from what Skye is doing with her mouth and tongue, and way too soon, his hips are bucking against her mouth, but she just grabs them and locks her mouth around him as he comes hard and hot and fast, a string of curses interspersed with her name turning into a prayer.

She bounces up grinning, and leans against him as he tries to catch his breath. He bends down and holds her firmly in place to kiss her, his tongue searching for his own taste in her mouth. She winds her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him, chuckling when she can feel his cock start to harden against her thigh.

“You really like having sex in the shower, don’t you?” she says, running her hands over his neck and chest, his back and his hips and, God, his _ass,_ and he just closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall and lets her touch wherever she wants, lets her _do_ whatever she wants to him. He just doesn’t want her to stop touching him, especially when her hand is around him again, pushing and pulling and rubbing just right.

“Skye…” he moans aloud, and the sound goes right to her clit. God, would she love to fuck him right here, but shower sex can be tricky, especially when condoms are involved.

She stops what she’s doing and he whines, trying to pull her back against him, but she just steps under the spray to wet her hair. “Wash up, Super Spy,” she teases. “I don’t want you collapsing on me _just_ yet.”

He shakes his head, chuckles, and grabs some shampoo.

***

She makes Ward pull the sheer curtains closed; she loves the freedom of being able to wander the apartment in the buff, especially in all this heat. Ward does as she asks—he sure as hell isn’t going to complain when Skye is wandering around, flushed pink from their shower, her curves catching and holding the ambient sunlight still coming through the windows.

She’s sitting at the vanity in the bathroom, drying her hair into the confection of curls that he loves. He comes up behind her, only wearing a pair of boxer briefs himself, and plants kisses against her neck. She doesn’t exactly want him to stop so she switches off the hair dryer so she won’t burn him or accidentally clock him with it.

“Turn around,” he whispers in her ear.

“But I—” He gently places a hand over her mouth.

“Turn around, Skye,” he murmurs. He can feel her relax against him and he turns her so she’s sitting facing him on the vanity’s marble bench.

“Slide forward a bit…Good girl,” he continues as she slides towards the edge of the bench.

“Now I’m going to go down on you, and you can come as much as you want, but I want to hear it when you do, understand?” He tosses down the pillow he’s brought from the bedroom on the floor in front of her and spreads her thighs as wide as he can.

“Yes, sir,” she whispers, her hands landing to rest on his shoulders.

He gently holds her open, and starts by fluttering his tongue against her. “Oh…so good,” he hears her sigh. He traces the tip of his tongue in and out of her folds and when his tongue finally enters her to taste her, her hips jerk forward and she cries out.

He moves in as close as he can get and brings her legs over his shoulders, giving him better, deeper access. He begins to use his lips along with his tongue and he gets what he’s been waiting for—a long, drawn out moan. “Please, please, please don’t stop,” she begs audibly, panting.

He chuckles against her as she arches her back, pressing into him, leaning back on her hands. She makes a desperate, needy trill of sound that he’s never heard before and it’s so fucking gorgeous to hear that he wants to figure out how to make her do it again. He withdraws his tongue, letting his lips travel every bit of flesh in front of him. She makes that wonderful new noise again, and then he hears, not in a whisper or pant or muffled by a hand, but beautiful and strong, “Grant…please!”

He swiftly moves to massage her clit with his tongue, beginning to taste her, salty and sweet in his mouth. “God, yes! Please…please don’t stop,” she cries loudly, and he holds one hip firmly in one hand so he can wrap his other arm around her back. When he changes tactics and sucks rhythmically on her clit, he gets another of those wonderful trills of sound and, _“Fuck—yes!”_

This time, he doesn’t stop, and he can feel her muscles tighten and hear a high-pitched, “Yes…yes…yes…yes,” and it sounds like a benediction.

Then she’s coming, her back arching deeper, further, and he listens, enchanted, to all the different sounds she’s making and the words she’s crying out, until he feels her pull herself away, her head drooping forward slightly, and then he can feel her legs trembling against his shoulders, neck, and back.

“I’m sorry…” she pants. “Too much…I can’t…Holy _shit,_ Grant…” He watches as she lets her head fall backwards, her hair tumbling over her shoulders, and she’s so beautiful it almost breaks his heart.

He slips her legs off his shoulders and kneels up to kiss her, a kiss that she returns enthusiastically. Then she’s smiling and chuckling against his mouth and he knows now not to be embarrassed—that she’s simply happy and sated and that she isn’t going to hurt him, especially when she presses her forehead to his and cups his face in her palms.

“You okay?” he manages to get out when she’s done kissing him.

“So very much _beyond_ okay,” she laughs. “More along the lines of _completely_ blissed-out. God, you are fucking _amazing!”_

He chuckles. “I have a wonderful muse,” he says, just to see her blush at the compliment. She shakes her head a little, but he nudges her head up so he can look her in the eyes. “It’s just the God’s-honest truth, Skye.”

She looks into his eyes, searches his face. She finally kisses him, letting her lips linger on his.

He stands up, pulling her with him so he can wrap her in his arms. “Ready for some food?” he asks softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She nods then lets out a little squeal as he picks her up to take her to the bedroom.

The bed is a fantasy of soft white cotton gauze bedclothes, complete with plenty of pillows and a canopy. Skye smells food cooking from the other apartments and absolutely wonderful smells drifting in from the immense outdoor marketplace near the square of _Djemma el-Fna_. Her stomach lets out a loud, impatient growl, making Ward laugh as he places her on the bed.

“Wait here, and I’ll bring us food,” he says, kissing her forehead.

“You’re doing it again,” she smiles.

“What?”

“Spoiling me,” she answers. “I’m starting to like it,” she teases, stretching out like a cat against the sun-warmed linens.

Ward watches her, wishing he could draw…paint…dare to take a picture of her like this, dark hair and honey-toned skin against the white of the sheets. He leans down to give her one more kiss before going to the kitchen to forage.

He’s slightly amazed at what he finds—Coulson doesn’t stint when it comes to food. Soon he’s bringing back lamb _tajine_ , a lamb stew, re-heated in the microwave, along with plenty of warm flatbread to eat it with. There are figs and oranges, ripe strawberries, and dates stuffed with almond paste. There are even _mescouta,_ or date cookies made with almonds and rolled in confectioner’s sugar. He adds two spoons for the tajine, bottled water, and peppermint tea.

He brings the tray of food to the bedroom, placing it on a low, round table surrounded with cushions. Skye pads over on bare feet with her hair piled on top of her head. He laughs and shakes his head and rummages in a closet next to the bath.

“Think fast!” he calls out to her, tossing her a bundle of soft white fabric.

“What’s this?” she asks, curious as she shakes it out and holds it against herself.

“It’s a kaftan,” he says, coming over to help her drape it over herself. “If you don’t wear something, we’ll just end up back in that bed in about five seconds.” She blushes again, but laughs, finding the neck and arms of the garment. It’s soft, white cotton and is so light that she barely feels as if she’s wearing anything at all.

“Thank you,” she murmurs in his ear, before pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Oh!” she claps her hands and dances around a bit. “I think it’s fair for you to wear one of your surprises,” she calls out as she dashes to her bag.

“Think fast,” she teases, and tosses him a much smaller piece of what looks and feels like white silk. He shakes them out to find a pair of white silk boxers, and raises an eyebrow.

She turns her back, placing her hands over her eyes. “Put them on. I won’t look,” she laughs.

He smiles as he replaces his boxer briefs with the white silk. He has to admit that the boxers are much more…appropriate. “You can look now,” he tells her.

She spins around, smiling, and he chuckles as her eyes widen and she walks over to him. Then her hands are on him, doing the petting thing again, and how does she make him _feel_ like that _every single time?_ “God, you are _gorgeous_ ,” he hears her say before he feels her nuzzle his neck.

His own stomach growls and they both laugh. “Food first,” he says, and they sit next to each other on the colorful cushions surrounding the table. They share—well, almost fight over—the bowl of _tajine_ , cleaning the bowl out with the last pieces of flatbread. They feed each other the dates stuffed with almond paste, Ward watching her close her eyes and sigh in pleasure as he sucks the last of the almond paste from her fingers. He grabs her wrist, cleaning each finger with his tongue.

“Damn, Ward,” she sighs, opening her eyes to look at him. “A little more food and then back to the mind-blowing sex,” she says, her eyes filled with simple, eager lust that turns him rock-hard. He leans over and pulls her head towards him, kissing her, tasting almonds and the peppermint from the tea they’ve been drinking with their meal.

Then he offers her some of the _mescouta._ “Cookie?” he asks innocently. She laughs, loud and long and happy. He feeds her _mescouta_ and strawberries, loving the look of hedonistic pleasure on her face. When nothing is left but the oranges, figs, and a couple of bottles of water, Skye wipes her face and grabs the water bottles.

“We’ll need these soon,” she says as she gets up and walks back towards the bed, a captivating sway to her hips, putting the bottles on the nightstand.

Ward takes the tray back into the kitchen, and in anticipation of “soon” and possibly “later”, puts some more bottled water into the refrigerator and peels and sections the oranges, putting them in a bowl. The washing up is quick and easy and he can hear Skye puttering around in the bedroom. He’s full of good food, his woman (emphasis on “his”, thank you) is happy doing…whatever it is that she’s doing, and he plans on having sex with _his_ woman until they drop from exhaustion, thank you very much. It’s another moment in time he wants to capture and hold so he can never forget it.

He hurries to finish up, wanting to get back to the woman in the bedroom.

The woman that belongs to _him_.

He thinks of the chain in its black velvet bag, and smiles.

***

She’s washed her face and hands and brushed her teeth. She even massaged a few more drops of jasmine oil into her skin. She’s pulled back the duvet and top sheet and, while waiting for Ward, investigates the bedroom a bit more. She quietly claps her hands in delight when she finds some sandalwood stick incense, a holder, and matches. She lights some, placing it on a brass tray in the center of what had just been their dinner table.

Then she snaps her fingers and brings out her phone and her speaker. She taps her fingers quickly over the screen and hits a button. The sounds of Loreena McKennitt’s song, _The Gates of Istanbul,_ fill the small apartment. She sings along softly as she lights some small, stained glass oil lamps she discovered in the same place she found the incense:

_See there, past that far-off hill_

_A tower held in the sky_

_Hear there, in that dark blue night_

_The music calling us home_

_See there, in that far-off field_

_Flowers turned to the sky_

_Feel there, in that dark blue night_

_The music calling us home_

She lets herself sway gently to the song, eyes closed, feeling the kaftan swirl around her like mist, stretching her arms above her, still singing softly.

_Stars may always guide our way,_

_From desert sands where winds blow harsh and long_

_But here’s where our hearts will pray_

_And all our loves will slumber with a song_

She suddenly stops and turns, her eyes flying open to see Ward standing there, watching her.

“I’m sorry…I…” She swallows hard at the look in his eyes.

“Don’t apologize,” he whispers, another spelled moment that he doesn’t want to break. He walks over to her, tips her chin up with one finger, and brushes his lips across hers, smelling jasmine oil and sandalwood.

_“Mine,”_ he whispers against her lips.

She simply answers with the truth. _“Yours.”_

Then he’s crushing her against him, bruising her mouth with his kisses, and she wraps her arms around his neck and lets him, her body practically humming with need when he pulls the kaftan off, letting it drop to the floor, letting skin touch skin. He’s hard against her and she somehow manages to reach down and palm him through the silk, listening to him groan, tasting peppermint and strawberries.

She eases the boxers down, whimpering when she feels him against her belly. She wraps a hand around his cock, stroking firmly, watching breathless as he closes his eyes and lets his head fall back at her touch. He brings her other hand up to his neck and she obeys the unspoken command, petting and rubbing his skin from his neck to his thighs.

_“God…Skye…”_ he manages to say before he yanks her up and against him. “Now,” he demands.

“Now,” she agrees, nodding before moving in to kiss him again.

_So now, if our hearts be true_

_And like a pool of truth reflect the sun,_

_We will find right honor there_

_And keep us safe and lead us from all harm_

She feels the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed and they end up sprawled across it, mouths still fused together. She feels his fingers scramble for purchase in her hair and reaches up to take the pins out, letting it fall. He sighs as he sinks his hand into her hair, tugging at the roots, feeling all her muscles relax and cradle him. She expects him to bring his other hand up to encircle her neck, and whines softly when he doesn’t.

“Open your eyes, Skye,” she hears him whisper, and when the hell did he stop kissing her? But she obeys, and opens her eyes.

He’s smiling—not with his lips but with his eyes—and he’s holding up a length of chain made of large, flat links, links that look like brushed steel and—

Her eyes fill with tears. It’s been so long since…

“Is that…” she whispers.

“Yes,” he answers, rolling off her just slightly. He had this planned out in his mind...how she would look, what he would say…but this is suddenly perfect; his thigh over her hips, her hands pulling her hair out of the way, her body shaking underneath his, her pupils blown before the collar has even touched her skin…

He lays it flat against her neck and her eyes close, her mouth opening slightly. “Raise your neck just a touch,” he murmurs, and she does so, careful not to move the collar. He reaches back behind her neck with both hands and fastens the chain, spinning the tiny combination lock.

It fits perfectly.

He wipes away the few tears that have run down her temples and brushes a kiss over her lips. _“Mine,”_ he whispers again, pressing a kiss over the center of the collar.

She relaxes completely into the mattress, into _him._ She takes in a shaky gulp of air and just nods. It feels so _perfect_ —the links of steel against her throat, having this mark of possession that means she belongs not only _somewhere_ but to _someone_ —a whole slew of emotions she’s only felt once before.

She’s made her choice.

She’s his.

“Look at me,” she hears him say.

It’s hard—so hard—to make it close enough to the surface to open her eyes, but she does what he asks. He’s looking into her eyes carefully, making sure she’s all right, making sure she’s here with him, and knowing that makes her raise a hand to gently stroke his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers, and he exhales and presses his forehead against hers.

“I need you,” he whispers.

“You have me,” she answers, pulling his head down towards hers.

It’s a bit of a blur after that, made of fierce kisses, his mouth on her neck, his hand fisted tightly in her hair. He gently strokes her with two fingers to see if she’s ready for him and she arches herself into the touch, nodding and begging, “Yes! Yes…please…”

And she can hear him open a condom and somehow she’s able to roll it down his cock when he puts it in her hand and then he’s inside her, deep and pressing deeper, rolling his hips against her, making her cry out his name.

“Legs and arms,” he orders and she wraps her limbs around him and expects to be taken hard and fast, but he’s moving slowly, so slowly against her until she thinks she’s going to go crazy with the pure pleasure of him inside her and she’s begging again, begging for what, she’s not really sure.

His head is pressed into her shoulder and he can still smell sandalwood incense and jasmine oil but now he can smell Skye as well, and he wants to take her hard and fast, the way she’s begging him to do right now, but, like when she says his voice is steel wrapped in velvet, he’s steel, she’s velvet, and he finds himself gently biting the spot between her neck and her shoulder, wanting to hear her cries. She tries to speed the movement of her hips, but he snaps his hands to her hips, holding her still as he continues to roll his hips into her.

“I can’t…I can’t…please, sir…please…I can’t…” she’s pleading, and one of his hands releases her hip and slides in between them and the next time he rolls his hips, his thumb rubs firmly against her clit and she almost shrieks except his mouth covers her at the last possible second and she comes.

“Again,” he orders, rubbing circles into her clit with his thumb and her hips jerk against him and she cries out again, shouting “Yes!” for the entire world to hear.

He moves faster now, but not harder, letting the tension build and build, keeping her on the edge until he asks, his voice rough with his own need, “Who do you belong to?”

The answer is an instantaneous wail. “You! I belong to you!” And now he grabs her hips again, presses his head into her shoulder, and fucks her, fucks her hard and fast, exactly the way they both want and need. She clings to him so tightly that he doesn’t need to hold her hips, so he slips his arms behind her back and his hands grab her shoulders and he lets out a groan as he goes in deeper.

She comes once, twice more and then his thumb is rubbing against her clit again and she’s keening in the back of her throat, waiting, waiting, waiting…

And then his thumb presses down firmly and she hears him call out her name as he comes and she’s falling over the edge one final time, only this time it’s _with_ him and he’s pulsing inside her and she’s tight around him and somehow it is absolutely fucking perfect.

She blinks her eyes, grateful for the dim light. They’re both panting, gasping, and sweaty as hell, but she’s still wrapped around him and he’s still buried to the hilt inside her. He raises his head from her shoulder, pressing kisses all along the length of the collar. She moves her hands all over his skin, kneading, rubbing, and petting until he sighs and relaxes against her.

He reluctantly pulls himself out of her and gets rid of the condom. He lays back down, pulling her on top of him. She slowly comes back to herself after such a tremendous, emotional drop. He’s stroking her hair, her neck, her back as he watches her. She’s suddenly shy again and can feel herself blushing as he smiles at her.

“That was…” she tries, but after looking into his eyes, she needs to bury her face in the safety of his shoulder.

He chuckles softly, and presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Come on,” he murmurs into her hair. “Let’s rinse off,” he says, easing them both up and on their feet. He waits until Skye stops swaying and leads them back to the shower. He turns it on and they get in when the water is barely warm, Skye sighing and closing her eyes as the water sluices over their bodies.

They wash each other off, sharing Skye’s body wash (“I’m going to smell like a freesia?” “Probably not for long, Ward.”) and get out before they get too hot and bothered again. Ward sends Skye back to bed and grabs the water and the bowl of oranges out of the refrigerator.

They feed each other orange slices and finish a bottle of water each. Ward can tell that Skye is ready for bed because she has her arms wrapped around him and is nuzzling his chest. She whines a bit when he gets up to put out the oil lamps, but sighs in contentment when he slips back under the covers with her.

She’s relaxed against him, the way she is during a drop, and he makes a mental note to make her eat breakfast in the morning and maybe have her sit in the sun.

The bed is queen-sized and is wonderfully comfortable after sharing a single mattress for so long. He listens to the sounds coming in through the windows and watches Skye sleep in the curve of his arm.

She’s his now. Irrevocably and permanently.

She’s _his._

That thought relaxes him more than any other, and he listens to the music still coming through Skye’s speakers as he drifts off…

_Then come, love, let us dance all night_

_Until birds, they waken at the dawn._

_Then come, love, let us sing all night_

_And all our loves will slumber with a song_       

***

Skye only wakes up because she can smell coffee. Amazingly good coffee. However, she’s still tired, achy in the most wonderful places, and wants her human pillow back. She tries to find Ward with her arm, but has to settle for the pillow that smells like him instead. She curls herself around it and drifts back to sleep.

And then Ward (she certainly _hopes_ that it’s Ward) is softly kissing her awake and chuckling at the same time. “I come bearing sweet coffee and gazelle’s horns,” he teases. She sits up in bed, shoving her hair out of her face.

“Coffee now,” she demands.

“What’s the magic word?” Huh. That phrase usually earns her a smack on the ass. Why is he being so patient with her this morning? She yawns and feels the collar move against her throat, and she remembers…

Everything.

“May I please have my coffee, you delectable _mescouta_ of a man?” she asks much more politely.

She loves being able to make him laugh like that.

“Put the kaftan back on first,” he says, “Then you can have breakfast without me trying to ravish you at the first opportunity.”

She chuckles, snatches up the kaftan, and heads to the bathroom so she can wash up and get her hair off her neck in the heat. When she comes back out, she’s much more awake and her hair is in a messy bun on the top of her head. Ward pulls her tight against him, running a finger over her collar. They share a heated kiss until her stomach rumbles loudly. He’s shed his street clothes in favor of the white silk boxers from the previous night and that’s fine with Skye.

“Coffee, food, sex, sleep, repeat. Except probably replace coffee with ‘beverage of your choice’ and ‘insert shower/bath here’,” she grins, kissing the tip of his nose.

“I can agree to that plan. Come and eat.”

He pulls her down into the cushions he’s piled strategically so he can comfortably keep her in his lap. He watches as she drinks the sweet Arabic coffee, or _hilweh_ , combining it with fresh orange juice and figs. She loves the curved pastries called Gazelle’s Horns, or _Kaab el-ghzal_. He decides to hide the coconut cakes that he bought this morning for later tonight.

She’s full, sticky-fingered from the Gazelle’s Horns, and drowsy again in about half an hour. He notes the faint smudges under her eyes. “Let’s wash up and we’ll sleep some more,” he orders in his “No Arguments” voice. Not like she’s about to argue at an order of more cuddling time with her man.

_Her man._

Has a nice ring to it, she thinks, as she washes the stickiness of the pastry from her hands and face.

***

He’s having the most wonderful dream—someone is riding him, slick wet heat surrounding him, and he can feel lips pressed against his throat, making him shiver. He begins to wake at the sound of her moans and the feel of her skin under his hands as he grabs her hips. He smells jasmine and…

“Skye… _Christ_ …Don’t stop… _please_ …” he hears himself say.

“Shhh…” She hushes him with a finger to his lips. “I won’t stop…oh _God,_ Grant…I promise…” she pants. She hadn’t been able to resist when she woke from their nap and could feel him, hard, pressing against her. She had gotten up, put a condom on him, and climbed on to enjoy the ride. So far, the ride was pretty fucking terrific.

She leans back slightly, gently rubbing and pinching her clit, loving every single inch of him that’s inside her. His hands are hot on her hips and he’s rolling himself against her, eyes still closed, head thrown back, and _Goddamn_ was this the greatest idea she’d _ever_ had.

She closes her own eyes, catching his rhythm with her own hips and matching it, hearing him moan as she rocks back, taking his full length into her and hearing him whisper her name when she rocks forward, lifting herself up just enough for the sweet friction to make them both shiver.

She feels herself getting close and she works her hand faster and harder against herself, and finds herself starting to grind down against him. “Oh, God,” she whimpers. “I’m so close, Grant…” She hears his moan and feels the little twitch that goes through his cock when she calls out his name.

“Come for me, Skye,” he orders. “I want to feel you around me…”

His eyes are still closed, he’s barely awake, but his fingers hold her hips so he can drive himself into her faster, harder. “Oh yes…oh yes…oh yes…” she starts to cry out as she leans forward to run her hands over his chest, angling herself just right so there’s just enough friction against her clit as she presses herself back against him and suddenly everything _works,_ and she’s coming, back arched, hair everywhere, feeling her muscles clamp down hard around him.

He’s finally able to open his eyes and he groans when he sees her, riding him through her orgasm. His hold on her now is probably tight enough to bruise, but Skye isn’t complaining; in fact, she’s gently, firmly urging him on, telling him how good he feels inside her, how good she’ll feel when she can feel him come.

He finally slams up into her, making her gasp for breath as he finds her clit with his thumb, pressing down firmly. She cries out his name again and then somehow they’re both coming, coming not hard and frantically, but in ripples and waves that roll over and through them, leaving them clinging tightly to each other.

He hears Skye chuckle. “Your afternoon wake-up call, sir,” she teases, before moving up to kiss him, sucking gently on his bottom lip. He grins and kisses her back before grabbing some tissues and getting rid of the condom.

He collapses back onto the bed, pulling Skye into his arms, tracing his fingers over the links of her collar, watching her eyes close, hearing her hum in contentment and relax against him. A few moments later, she nuzzles and kisses his neck, making him laugh when she opens her eyes, looks at him, and says, “Food now?”

“Food now,” he agrees. “Let me shower on my own and I’ll go to the market and bring back something to tempt your palate. Anything in particular?”

“More fresh fruit, and those dates stuffed with the almond paste? And anything else that looks good and is easy to carry. I’m starving!”

“Poor baby,” he murmurs, running a hand through her hair. Then, abruptly, he rolls himself on top of her, kissing her through her laughter. “More strawberries, if I can find them?”

“God, yes, please!” she laughs, arching her hips into him when she feels his cock start to wake up and “take a look around” as she puts it.

He smiles, shakes his head, and reluctantly gets up, but not before administering a good couple of slaps to her ass. “Tease,” he murmurs, still bent down, watching her smile and eyes grow soft.

“A promise,” she whispers back, running a hand along his cheek.

He leans down and kisses her softly. “Just close your eyes for a little while and rest. When you wake up, I’ll be back with plenty of food for this afternoon and tonight. Sound good?”

“Mmmm…sounds wonderful,” she murmurs with a smile and a yawn, already falling into a light sleep.

He smiles and rises carefully, taking one of the throws from the chest at the end of the bed and covering her with it.

A plan forms in his mind and he grins, hurrying to shower. This trip into _Djemma el-Fna_ is going to be a little longer than he thought, but it’ll be worth it.

***

When she wakes about an hour later, she’s alone in the apartment. She pads naked into the kitchen and chugs a bottle of water. She goes back into the bedroom to do a bit of cleaning up.

She makes the bed with fresh linens and puts the brightly colored, silky throw back into the chest at the end of the bed. She finds some cleaning products and wipes down the surfaces in the kitchen, bath, and the bedroom. Then she takes a shower and dries her hair, pinning it up again. She looks for a clean kaftan and finds another in the linen closet next to the bath, slipping it on. A few drops of jasmine oil in the right places and a bit of eyeliner, mascara, and gloss and she’s ready for Ward to come home.

Come home.

She’ll miss this place when they leave, though she’s barely left the bedroom.

She turns on Loreena McKennitt again and lights more incense. She can hear footsteps and then keys jingling, and the door opens, and he’s finally back, carrying more bags and baskets than she ever thought existed. “What did you do, you wonderfully insane shopper? It looks like you’ve got the whole—what is it called again?— _souk!_ It looks like you bought out the entire freaking _souk!_ I hope you had fun haggling—well, I hope you at least haggled for some of it! Show me, show me, show me!”

He laughs as she pulls him down for a kiss. He puts down most of the bags in the kitchen, bringing a couple into the bedroom. Some of the bags and baskets themselves look like works of art. “I don’t want to have to go to the market again—we have to be back on the Bus by 0800 tomorrow. So I bought as much food as I could carry, some gifts for Coulson and May and FitzSimmons, and some…surprises.” He looks around, inhales, and then looks slightly stunned.

“You cleaned!” he exclaims, slipping his arms around her. “You didn’t have to—”

She puts a finger to his lips. “I wanted to,” she murmurs, standing on tiptoe to kiss him again, letting out a little moan when he runs his hands firmly down her sides. “I wanted our nest to be nice and cozy for the rest of our time here. So…I nested.” She goes shy again, pressing her face into his shirt.

He moves her head so he can kiss her forehead and run his finger along her collar again. “I’m learning not to be surprised when you surprise me,” he says, then laughs. “Did I make any sense whatsoever?”

“Yes, you did. You are becoming a learned man when it comes to the ‘Tao of Skye’.” She gets a chuckle and another toe-curling kiss from him before they start going through the bags and baskets of fruits, bread, and two _tajines_ —lamb and chicken. There’s a large container of fresh orange juice, and an obscene amount of strawberries, oranges, and more stuffed dates. There’s also a large container of almond milk, or _sharbat billoz_ , still cold from the vendor’s stall. Curious, Skye takes a swallow from the container and falls in love.

“Almonds, honey, and orange water with milk,” Ward says, prying the container out of Skye’s hands. He grabs a glass from one of the cabinets and pours her some, putting the rest in the refrigerator, along with the rest of the food except for the bread. He also keeps out some of the stuffed dates for Skye to inhale, which she does.

“I’m gonna learn how to make this stuff, because I don’t think I can live without it,” she says after polishing off the last bit of almond paste and _sharbat billoz_.

“If anyone can figure out how to add a Moroccan Night to our week, it’s you,” he says, smiling, thinking of everything that could go wrong with letting Skye loose in the Bus’s galley trying to cook Moroccan food. Luckily, there’s always the possibility of takeout. “I’ll buy us more sweet coffee and gazelle horns on our way back to the Bus,” he tells her.

“Can I see what you found for everyone else?” she asks, eager to see what Ward has picked as gifts for the team. “You’ll have to let me know how much I owe you for—”

“No.” His voice is firm and cuts her off.

“But all this food—the gifts—it couldn’t have been cheap—”

“Skye, you don’t owe me anything. I’m not taking your money.” He won’t look at her. God, she _hates_ that—his way of saying his word is law. Her temper flares.

“Look, Ward, I’ve been getting paid since the day I got a bunk on the Bus, and I haven’t spent—”

He turns towards her, exasperated, wanting her to just drop it. “Thank you, but the answer is still ‘no’. I don’t need it and I don’t want it.”

Her temper, honed by her confusion, snaps. “Because you take it out in trade instead?”

As soon as the words come out of her mouth, she’s ashamed of herself. She closes her eyes and puts a hand over her mouth.

He had been happy. Happy providing for her and their friends. Truly happy for the first time maybe since she met him, and she ruined it.

She opens her eyes and wants to cry when she sees the hurt look on his face. Not pain, but—hurt. And haunted and confused. As if he brought her a bouquet of wildflowers and she tossed them in the dirt.

And maybe someone had done that exact thing to a much younger, more vulnerable Grant Ward.

She forces herself to walk over to him even though she doesn’t know what to say.

But she touches her collar, and she knows exactly what to do.

She kneels, thighs spread, back straight, head down, arms behind her back.

“Skye, you don’t—” he begins.

“Yes, sir, _I do,”_ she whispers, tears starting to roll down her face. “You said ‘no’. That should have been enough for me.” She looks up at him. “You were so happy and I—I _ruined_ it. I am _so sorry,_ and I’ll accept any punishment, any task…I don’t know if I _can_ make up for what I just said. I let my temper completely override my good sense and _I’m sorry.”_

She keeps looking at him until that haunted, confused look leaves his eyes and he bends down to take her by the shoulders, pulling her gently to her feet. “I’ve _never_ thought of you like that,” he whispers.

“I know,” she says, tentatively placing a hand on his cheek. “I was… _awful._ Over… _money.”_

She thanks God, or Allah, or whoever is watching over them, because he leans into her touch, turning his head to kiss her palm. He steps closer and draws her into a tight embrace, her arms going around his neck and her head resting against his shoulder. “Can you tell me about it? Or do you just want me to leave it alone?” she asks, feeling him tremble against her. “I _belong_ to you. I’m _yours._ I’m not going _anywhere,_ no matter what.” She smooths her hands over the nape of his neck, petting and petting him until she can feel him relax against her. “Please don’t shut me out, Grant,” she whispers. “Tell me I hurt you; tell me you’re angry with me, but don’t shut me out.”

“It was my mother,” he says in a rush. “Everything I _ever_ gave her—even if I spent every penny I managed to hide from my older brother— _everything_ I gave her, she would find something wrong with it. Some reason to get rid of it. _Everything._ Even—even perfume I _knew_ she _wore!_ Nothing was ever…” He presses his face into Skye’s shoulder and she can feel tears fall on her skin.

She lets the tears stream down her own face, aching for that boy, understanding that boy, knowing that boy, because so much of her life had been the same. She wasn’t good enough to be adopted, or even fostered, until…

Only once, when she escaped the system, had she truly _belonged_ to someone and then never again until Grant. “I’m sorry,” she hears herself whisper. “Oh, Grant, I am so sorry.”

Then he’s kissing her, raw and desperate, and she hears cloth tear and the remains of the kaftan are on the floor. She swiftly undoes the buttons on his shirt and he shrugs out of it, leaving it on the kitchen floor. He picks her up over his shoulder and she doesn’t resist. He lays her on the bed, never taking his eyes from hers as he shoves down and steps out of his jeans. He reaches into the nightstand drawer, takes out a condom, and when his hands shake, she helps him put it on and roll it down.

She cradles his body with hers, wraps him in her arms, and holds on to him with her legs, hoping his physical desire can combat his emotional pain. “I’m here,” she finds herself whispering. “I’m here.”

He’s kissing her again and trembling, and he moves faster and faster as she clenches her muscles tight around him.

_“Skye—”_

“Come for me, Grant. Come for me.”

And he does, pressing himself tight against her, shaking. She holds him inside her with her thighs locked tight around his waist. He sobs—harsh, terrible sounds—once, twice…a third and final time before relaxing against her. She doesn’t unlock her legs; she just pets him and rubs him and strokes him from his neck to his waist.

She takes his hand in hers and brings it to her throat, where her collar lies. His breathing starts to even out and his heartbeat slows. He nuzzles her neck, then reaches back and unlocks her legs from around him. He gets up to get rid of the condom and when he turns back to the bed, she’s holding up the covers next to her. She looks at him hesitantly, waiting to see if he’ll come to her.

His smile is tired, but his eyes are clear again and she can’t help but sigh in relief as he gets in bed next to her, nudging her over with his hip a little more before relaxing into the mattress and pulling her on top of him. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“It’s okay. No more apologies necessary,” he murmurs, pulling the pins from her hair until it falls around her shoulders and down her back so he can run his fingers through it. She relaxes against him and sighs.

“Mine?” she hears him ask softly.

She raises her head and looks at him. “Yours.”

Then her stomach growls, making her blush and making him chuckle. “Sounds like it’s time to put something a little more substantial in your stomach,” he says. She just hides her face in his chest and nods, thoroughly embarrassed.

_“Never_ at a convenient time,” she groans.

He tangles a hand in her hair and holds her still while he gives her a wonderfully long, absolutely reassuring kiss before rolling them over so her hips are cradling his again. “Chicken or lamb?”

“Lamb,” she says definitively.

“I’ll start heating it up if you can get things set up in here.”

“Sure, but…what do you want me to do?” she asks, curious.

He kisses her nose. “Hold on,” he says, getting out of bed.

She props herself up on one arm when he comes back with the two market baskets he had left at the foot of the bed. Rummaging through one, he pulls out what looks like black fabric. He shakes it out to reveal a pair of loose black pants made from a silky, textured, hand woven fabric. A corner of her mouth quirks up. “And people say you’re predictable,” she gently teases. She’s seen the colorful selections of fabric from the windows and only Ward would come to Morocco and pick out plain black.

“Well, the white fabric is still a little too see-through for my comfort,” he teases back, digging through the bag again. “And for my lady…” He stands up and unfolds an airy kaftan of cream and gold.

“Oh my God…” her voice trails off as she gets up. “It’s absolutely beautiful…”

He hands it to her and goes through the bag yet again. “And if you wouldn’t mind setting the table with this…”

When she finally sets her kaftan aside, she sees that he’s bought a small gold and cream tablecloth with two matching napkins. He also puts down two matching mint tea glasses, clear with gold etching, and two brightly polished brass spoons.

“I’m going to grab a quick shower before preparing our next repast,” he teases, pulling her against him and kissing her all kinds of flustered and breathless.

“Go,” she laughs, shoving him towards the bathroom. She finds her hairpins and pins her hair back up, then begins to prepare their “little nest”, and herself, for dinner.

***

After a shower and getting rid of the bit of stubble he manages to accumulate near the end of every day, he slips into his new pants. The material is a soft mixture of wool and silk and feels wonderful against his skin. He goes into the kitchen, leaving the bathroom free for Skye.

She’s folded the bedcovers back the way she did the night before, cleaned out the incense burner and lit some fresh incense, and Loreena McKennitt is still softly playing. She finds a funnel and a bottle of lamp oil and refills the oil lamps and lights them after wiping down and setting the table with the tablecloth, napkins, mint tea glasses, and spoons. She ducks quickly into a cool shower, washing the light sheen of sweat off her body.

Deodorant, lotion, and jasmine oil later, she takes out the tight, short lace chemise and panties she ordered and giggles, not because they’re silly in any way, but because she unknowingly ordered them in ivory lace.

They match the kaftan perfectly.

She reapplies her makeup, smiling as she listens to Ward whistling in the kitchen. Again, just enough eyeliner and mascara and a bit of lip gloss. She adds a pair of gold studs to her ears and she’s ready. Well, more than ready, actually.

Thankfully, Ward will have everything off her soon enough.

***

This time, Ward brings in two separate bowls of lamb _tajine_ and plates piled with flatbread, strawberries, and stuffed dates. Then he brings in the peppermint tea, leaving the _sharbat billoz_ in the refrigerator for dessert, along with the coconut cakes he had purchased at the _souk_ this morning. “Skye,” he calls out, thinking she might still be in the bath. “Skye?” he calls again, trying to figure out where she might be in the small apartment.

“Over here,” she calls shyly from the small balcony, and parts the curtains to come back in.

He stares.

She flushes pink.

_Christ,_ she is suddenly exotic, sexy, breathtaking, and adorable, _all at the same damn time._

If he didn’t need the energy, he’d forego the food altogether in favor of dining on her.

Dear God, if he’s not careful, she’s going to _kill_ him with sex alone.

He walks over to her, and without a word, leans down and carefully kisses her cheek, then just brushes her lips with his own before tilting her head back a bit so he can kiss her collar. He smells jasmine and Skye, and closes his eyes, wrestling the possessive part of himself down, contenting it by gently scraping his teeth between her neck and her shoulder so she shudders, and whispers _“Mine,”_ into her ear.

By the time he backs away, they’re both panting slightly. He offers her his arm and leads her the few steps to the table. He sits, drawing her down into his lap on the cushions. When she makes no move towards the food, he looks in her eyes and sees that her pupils are half-blown and her eyes are already a little glassy.

He smiles, and starts to feed her from his own bowl of _tajine_. After a few spoonfuls of the rich lamb stew, she shakes her head as if to clear it and chuckles. “Damnit, Ward, give a girl some warning the next time you do that,” she says, and picks up her spoon to take her turn at feeding him.

Somehow, the food disappears rather quickly, with Ward doing that thing where he sucks almond paste and the juice from the strawberries from her fingers, making Skye close her eyes and moan softly.

She whimpers when he sets her down on the cushions, but he orders, “Drink your tea, Skye. I’m going to clear the table so we can have dessert.” She obeys without a single objection, her eyes following him as he places the dishes and bowls on the platter he brought them in on.

He pours out two good-sized glasses of the almond milk and brings them to the table along with a bowl of orange sections and a plate of coconut cakes. After he sets everything on the table, he pulls Skye back into his lap, where, now that he has satisfied one appetite, his body is starting to demand that he satisfy another. Or, to put it bluntly, he’s got one hell of a hard-on that he’s sure Skye can feel, because she’s moving her ass against him in a way that makes him run his tongue up the back of her neck and murmur, “If you really want a spanking, just tell me.”

He feels a shudder go through her and then she’s looking at him with those big, soft, dark eyes and she quirks one corner of her mouth up into a smile and says, “Definitely. But after dessert,” and feeds him another bite of a coconut cake.

_God,_ she is _absolutely_ going to fucking be the death of him.

Dessert is also finished fairly quickly, and when Skye moves to help him in the kitchen, he says, a little more forcefully than he actually intended, “Stay here and straighten up. If you come into the kitchen with me, I will fuck you on the floor. Do you understand me?”

She just nods, but he notices how she flushes harder, and takes in a large gulp of air. “Please make sure you bring back some water,” she whispers.

He smiles at her and it is predatory and possessive and _Goddamnit,_ her panties are ruined, but she does as he orders.

She tucks the tablecloth and napkins back in their basket and wipes down the table. She lights a fresh stick of incense, having become used to the soft scent in the background. She ducks into the bathroom and washes up and brushes her teeth.

She walks back into the bedroom and goes through her luggage, pulling out a bottle of massage oil, also scented with sandalwood. She puts out a couple of towels and a damp washcloth and waits for Ward.

She wants to chuckle, but doesn’t dare, even though he charges back into the bedroom with a bottle of water in each hand. He slams them on the nightstand and grabs her. No seduction, no finesse, just brute strength and raw power. His mouth covers hers in a vicious kiss.

Her muscles relax all at once and she’s clinging to his shoulders to keep herself upright. He wraps one arm around her hips, supporting her and holding her in the perfect position to grind his hips into hers. He grabs the back of her head with his other hand so she can’t break their kiss—not that she’s trying to.

When he comes up for air, he murmurs into her ear, “I believe I owe you a spanking. Take off the kaftan. Now.”

She swallows, feeling more moisture soak her panties as she undoes the buttons at the top of the caftan and shrugs it from her shoulders, letting the fabric puddle at her feet. She almost wants to chuckle when she sees Ward’s face as he takes in the skin-tight, ivory, lacy chemise with matching panties, but again, doesn’t dare.

In two strides he’s right in front of her and he unties the drawstring on his pants, shoving them off his hips and letting them fall to the floor. “ _Goddamnit, Skye…_ I don’t know what to do with you,” he sighs, cupping her cheek in one hand.

She just closes her eyes, nuzzles his hand, and says, in answer, “Anything you want.”

And she strokes a hand over her collar.

He pulls her in, flush to his own body, the feel of the lace and her skin against his driving him crazy. Then her hand is wrapped around his cock and she’s stroking and pushing and pulling and twisting until he lets out a groan. He leans over, grabs a pillow from the bed, and tosses it on the floor in front of him.

“Take your hair down.” She trembles a little, but swiftly removes her hairpins and shakes her hair down around her shoulders and back. He tangles a hand in her hair and gives her a bruising kiss. “I want your mouth on me.  Now,” he orders. Then he has to close his eyes, sink both hands into her hair, and spread his legs wider so he doesn’t fall on his face, because she’s on her knees, all dark hair and dark eyes, honey-toned skin and ivory lace, and she’s sucking him off for all she’s worth.

_“Fuck, Skye…”_ he manages to gasp out as her tongue traces every vein and every groove on his cock, then swirls around the shaft before she sucks on the head, then goes back to do it all over again. And he can hear her making those noises in the back of her throat that makes him feel like giving him one hell of a blowjob is all she wants to do.

He keeps his eyes closed, but lets his head fall back and he hears himself moaning aloud. _“Damnit Skye…God,_ that feels so good…Such a good girl…” And he continues encouraging her with his voice and his hands and his hips.

Then she’s simply sucking him down as far as she can, and her hands are on his hips, pulling him closer, and he’s coming, and it feels fucking amazing.

She holds his hips until his legs stop shaking, then gets up, puts the pillow back on the bed and kisses him softly. “Lay down and let me take care of you?”

Breathless, he takes a few swallows from the water bottle she hands him, and nods.

She has him lay on his stomach and feels her straddle his hips. “Get rid of the panties, Skye,” he orders, wanting to feel how wet she is. She gets up and slides the panties down and off and straddles him again to begin his massage.

The oil smells wonderful and is slick on his skin under Skye’s hands and when did she learn how to give a massage like this? She starts at his neck and methodically works her way down his back until she gets to his waist and then she’s rubbing his arms and working her thumbs into the palms of his hands and he moans, feeling his cock grow hard against his stomach.

“Enough, Skye,” he growls, and she’s wiping the excess oil off with a soft towel and her hands with the washcloth.

She ducks into the bathroom to wash her hands and he simply lays there for a moment, enjoying the way his body feels.

When she comes back into the bedroom, her hair is a little neater than it had been. He watches her hips as she moves slowly towards the bed. He finally rolls onto his side. “Come here,” he orders, and she happily climbs into bed next to him, only to let out a surprised squeak when he sits up and pulls her, face-down over his lap. When she twists her head to look up at him in confusion, he simply smiles and says, “You were the one who asked for it,” and his hand makes contact with her ass.

This is different—she can tell immediately. He’s not smacking her ass with the usual solid blows that he uses during a punishment. This is to get her adrenaline going and make her horny as hell, and so far, it’s working. As he continues to dole out small sharp smacks with one hand, she feels him reach underneath her to find her soaking wet.

She lets out a small moan as his fingers trail through her folds and over her clit. Then she whimpers from one of the smacks on her ass. She tries to press her hips down into his hand and gets a harder smack in warning. She whines but doesn’t try to move again; she just lets out the occasional moan or whimper, depending on what his hands are doing at the moment.

“Such a good girl, Skye,” he murmurs to her in approval, running one hands over her ass while the other leisurely plays with her clit. “I want you to come for me,” he says. “Do you think you can do that?”

He chuckles when she nods, whimpering and panting. “How many… _God…_ how many times, sir?” She gasps out.

“As many times as you want, but while you’re trying to come, I’ll also be…amusing myself…by spanking you. So I guess I should correct myself and say, ‘As many times as you _can.’”_

He runs his hand through the moisture between her legs and gently begins to massage her clit, pressing his fingers in firmer and firmer, feeling the muscles in her thighs and belly jump and twitch and when she’s rubbing herself into the touch of his fingers, he gives her a solid smack on the ass, smiling when she yelps in surprise, then moans as he starts to rub circles into her clit.

He keeps up the movement of his fingers on her clit while staggering the spacing of the smacks so she can’t tell when one will be coming. It’s not long before she’s whining high in the back of her throat, pressing herself frantically against his hand, and he’s wet from where she’s rubbing against his thigh. He starts hearing her whisper, “Oh _please…_ please, please, please…”

“Please what, Skye?” he bends to murmur in her ear.

“Please… _oh please…_ I need… _oh God…_ I need to come, sir… _please…_ ” she practically wails as he continues massaging her clit while giving her ass the occasional smack.

He’s hard again, hard as fucking iron, and he gives her one last smack before saying, “Hands and knees. Leave it on,” he warns sharply when she moves to peel the lace chemise from her body. He doesn’t know why, but this is definitely his new favorite piece of Skye’s wardrobe.

He takes out a condom and rolls it on. He holds her hips, eyeing her ass, pink from his well-placed, well-timed slaps and smacks. He presses himself against her without entering her, running his hands from her neck, down over her collar, stopping to play with her lace-covered breasts, then skimming his hands over her belly and thighs.

_Goddamn it!_ He’s doing everything _just right_ to make her go _fucking_ insane! She’s dropped, but not too much—just enough to make every sensation magnified. “Please…” she pants, feeling Ward hard and heavy and ready and pressed against her, _“Please…_ I’ll be good…I’ll be _so_ good… _Please_ fuck me and let me come!” she hears herself beg.

He chuckles (the smug prick) before sliding his cock into her. Her muscles go limp and she slumps forward onto her arms, making sure to keep her ass in the air. She moans and clenches her muscles around him, so grateful to have him finally inside her.

He straightens up and holds her hips in his hands, and she’s wet and hot and slick and so ready for him. He moves in and out of her in small, hard strokes, feeling her thighs trembling, watching as she presses herself back against him with each thrust. He starts making his movements longer, deeper, and she makes that needy trilling noise she made when he was going down on her yesterday and his control snaps.

Something happens because now he’s stopped teasing, and he’s fucking her, amazingly so, his strokes fast but firm and she keeps her muscles clenched tight around his cock, finding herself gasping out, “Yes...yes…yes…yes…” over and over again in a voice she barely recognizes as her own, his heat and the friction between them both urging her on.

He leans against her just enough so he can use one hand to massage circles over her clit with his fingers. She cries out, bucks her hips against him and starts to piston her hips amazingly fast between his cock and his fingers. He digs the fingers of his other hand into her hip and hangs on, suddenly desperate to hold back until she comes.

She’s pushed herself up again so she can move faster and faster, caught between his fingers and his cock and she’s panting, “So close…so close…so close— _fuck, yes!”_ And she’s suddenly coming, coming wonderfully hard when he slams into her over and over and over and over, and she’s coming again because he hasn’t moved his fingers away from her clit—he’s just pressing harder and the friction is perfect and she manages to come a third time before he grabs her hips with both hands again and he lets out a long, loud moan, and she can feel his cock pulsing inside her as he comes.

He gently pulls out of her and tosses the condom in the trash. He sits on the bed, running his fingers through her curls and tracing the line of her collar with one finger. Again, he wishes he could draw or paint or take a picture of her just like this, flushed, breathless, the lace barely covering her and the sheets surrounding her a contrast against her skin. It takes a minute, but she comes back to herself, her eyes opening, and he loves it when her eyes find his and she smiles that tiny, shy smile that no one else gets to see.

She rolls onto her back, gratefully taking the bottle of water he gives her, closing her eyes and drinking half of it at a go. He leans down and kisses her gently. “Now you can take it off,” he whispers, teasing, tugging at the hem of the chemise. She laughs as she sits up so she can take it off, tossing it to the side.

“Make sure you finish that water,” he says, getting up. “I’ll be back in a little bit with some more food.”

She just smiles softly and nods. She finishes the water and, feeling a bit steadier on her feet, straightens out the bedclothes and goes into the bathroom for a quick wash.

When she comes out, a bit cleaner but still naked, Ward is back with orange juice, stuffed dates, and strawberries. They eat at the table, Ward with his new black pants on, Skye in the buff, their bodies draped over the cushions and each other. Skye notices that Ward seems to have this thing about feeding her, so she lets him completely spoil her, pressing into his hand when he runs it over her hair, her neck, her shoulders, her back.

Soon the food is gone, but this time, Ward presses her back into the pile of cushions and spreads her legs apart, running his lips lightly over her skin until she’s dripping wet. He waits until she makes that needy little trill of sound again and then holds her hips and works her clit with his lips and tongue until she’s coming, calling out his name, her hands running through his hair.

He carefully picks her up and settles her back in the center of the bed, pulling the covers over her. Her eyes are closed and her breathing is soft and even when he gets up to bring the dishes back to the kitchen.

He washes up quickly, making sure the kitchen is clean. He’ll bring the remaining food back with them in the morning, he decides, knowing everyone will appreciate it. He walks back into the bedroom, finishing another bottle of water. He steps out onto their small balcony into the darkness of the night, enjoying the feel of the air on his heated skin. “Thank you,” he whispers…but who he’s whispering it _to,_ he’ll never really know.

He walks back inside and undresses, carefully slipping under the covers, not wanting to wake Skye. He settles back against the pillows and pulls her close, smiling when he feels her turn towards him and nuzzle against his chest, sighing in contentment, relaxed against him. He closes his eyes and listens again to the music coming from Skye’s speakers, knowing he’ll never forget her dancing to this song in a tiny apartment in Marrakech…

_Then come, love, let us dance all night_

_Until birds, they waken at the dawn._

_Then come, love, let us sing all night_

_And all our loves will slumber with a song_       


End file.
